Terry had always loved his room. His toys sat in their usual spots, and the sun always streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the floor. He could hear his parents downstairs, arguing over something they'd probably forget by the end of the day. The air smelled like the plants his mom kept in the window, and for a long time, he thought nothing of it. It was just normal.
That morning, he felt it—the strange feeling that something wasn't quite right. He'd woken up, his body stiff, heavy, like he'd been asleep for far too long. But it wasn't just his body. It was the whole world. The air tasted wrong, like metal, like dust, like something forgotten in a corner. The warmth from the sun didn't feel warm anymore. It felt like it was poking at his skin, itching, trying to get inside him.
Terry blinked. He didn't move. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It was like his legs wouldn't respond. His arms stayed stiff at his sides. His eyes darted across the room, but the world felt too far away, like it was all made out of paper. His mouth felt dry, but he couldn't make a sound. He tried to scream, tried to shout for help, but nothing came. The air in the room was too thick for words.
The smell of the plants grew stronger, and Terry's eyes darted to the windowsill. The big green plant his mom had been talking about, the one she said would be the perfect addition to the room—he could see it now. But it wasn't just a plant anymore. It was… him.
His heart pounded, but he couldn't feel it in his chest. He could only feel his skin—no, his leaves—curling up, like they were growing and wrapping around his body, tightening, binding him.
He tried to move again, but it was like his body was being pulled, drawn down into the soil, tangled up in the roots that now crawled into his bones. It was suffocating, each inch of his skin becoming more and more like bark. His fingers were no longer fingers. They had turned into green vines, twisting and curling as they dug deeper into the dirt.
Terry couldn't cry. He couldn't even scream. All he could do was watch in silence as his body changed. His limbs shriveled up. His face stretched. His legs turned into something… not legs anymore. He wasn't a boy. Not anymore.
And still, his parents downstairs argued. They didn't notice. They didn't care.
The plant—the thing that was once him—didn't care either. It soaked in the sunlight, the light that used to bring him comfort, now only causing him to shrivel further into his new form. He could still hear them downstairs. But they wouldn't look up.
He didn't know how long it had been. Days? Weeks? Time didn't matter. Not anymore.
The world outside the window was full of people, full of noise, and yet, it all seemed so far away, as if he was trapped behind glass. The voices and sounds were muffled, like they were under water.
Terry wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to be anything but this. But he wasn't allowed to. He was just a plant now. A forgotten thing, sitting on a windowsill, where the world passed by without ever noticing.